


The Missing Piece

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Apologies, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: Daisy finally gets the news about Thomas. Healing ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greycecile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greycecile/gifts).



> This one picks up where my earlier story, One Week Later, leaves off, though you don't have to read that one for this one to make sense. This takes place in the afternoon and evening on the day of Lady Mary and Henry Talbot's wedding.

It was the strangest thing. It was unusual itself, to be sure, but what was stranger still was the fact that no one else in the servants’ hall was reacting to it in the least.

 

Mr. Barrow had spent the day dozing in his chair by the fire, once they had all returned from church. She had heard why, and hadn’t paid it much mind. He had worn himself out, walking into the village for the wedding, and now he was tired. Of course he was. He was just getting over the flu.

 

Mrs. Hughes, Miss Baxter, and Anna had seen to him, bringing him a bite to eat and a cup of tea now and then, and she hadn’t paid much mind to this either. It had seemed a little odd that the one time Thomas had gotten up to use the toilet, Andy had walked with him, and waited outside the washroom for him to finish, then walked him back to his chair and covered him with Mrs. Hughes’ blanket again. But she had supposed that influenza really did take it out of person, and they were just being careful.

 

No, none of these things were strange enough to mind for more than a second. The really strange thing happened as she was serving the tea that afternoon. She followed Mrs. Patmore into the servants’ hall; the cook carried the tea things on a tray, and Daisy herself brought the milk in a large pitcher. Most of the other servants were already assembled there, awaiting their tea. As she stepped to the far side of the table to fill the smaller creamers with milk, she glanced at the fireplace. Mr. Barrow was still in his chair, and Miss Baxter was sitting on a stool beside him, which she had noted lately was a common occurrence. Thomas was nearly asleep, and Miss Baxter was holding his right hand. Not only that, though, she was softly stroking the back of his hand with her fingers, gently rubbing circles into his wrist. Daisy shook her head slightly and looked again. It seemed suddenly stranger still that Miss Baxter wasn’t even really looking at Thomas as she did it. Rather, she was looking at Mrs. Hughes, who stood near her, while the two of them carried on a conversation in soft voices, as though nothing irregular were occurring at all. And Miss Baxter just carried on, almost absently, as though she were holding and petting a cat. As though she had done this a thousand times before. Daisy found herself wondering briefly if perhaps she had.

 

She looked around for a moment, completely nonplussed. Had she gone mad? Was she seeing things? Anna and Mr. Bates were there, seated at the table, and so was Andy. Mrs. Patmore poured the tea, and Mr. Molesley helped distribute the cups. But no one seemed to care a fig about what was happening in front of the fireplace.

 

“What’s Miss Baxter doin’ to Mr. Barrow?” she asked, finally, of no one in particular. Anna was seated closest to her, and looked up briefly from her sewing. Daisy noted that Anna tried not to look uncomfortable, and this reassured Daisy that the rest of them were at least aware of what was happening.

 

“Well, he’s been ill, hasn’t he?” Anna said. “She’s looking after him. Soothing him, I expect.”

 

What?

 

“Does he need soothing?” Daisy answered. “For the flu?”

 

And there it was. The tiniest hitch in all the sound in the room. Just the slightest pause, as everyone blanched for a second only, then returned with gusto to their tea.

 

Anna put her sewing down on the table. She lowered her voice, though Daisy could not think why.

 

“He doesn’t have the flu, Daisy,” she said softly.

 

“But Mr. Carson said—” she began. Anna looked up at her suddenly, and her face seemed to beg Daisy to lower her voice. “But Mr. Carson said he were taken poorly with influenza,” she said, quietly this time. “Last week.”

 

As Anna stood from her chair, Daisy was suddenly filled with an awful sense of shame. She had gotten something wrong, she was sure of it. But she had no idea what. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and she wanted only to flee from the room and hide. Luckily Anna seemed to understand, and placed her hand on the younger woman’s arm.

 

“Come with me,” she said softly, and led Daisy out of the hall and back to the kitchen.

 

***

 

Daisy sat across from Anna, clutching the handkerchief she had given her, and took several deep breaths, until what had been sobs slowed to hiccups. Anna hadn’t thought she would take it so hard; perhaps she shouldn’t have told. But no; everyone else knew, and it just felt wrong to keep Daisy in the dark, as though she were still the naïve little girl she’d been over a decade ago when she came to the abbey.

 

“So,” Daisy started. “He took a razor, and he cut his own wrists, right up there in the bath…” Another deep breath. “Because he wanted to die?”

 

Anna nodded, and Daisy’s sobs began all over again.

 

“But why?” she cried.

 

“Shh,” Anna said, and placed her hand on Daisy’s arm. “You mustn’t let him hear you.”

 

Daisy made an effort to calm herself, and wiped her eyes again. “But why?” she asked, softly this time.

 

Her question was so genuine that Anna felt she must come up with an answer. “I don’t know exactly,” she began. “I’m not sure he knows, not completely. But Thomas… hasn’t had an easy life.”

 

“We none of us have had an easy life,” Daisy said, though not unkindly. She seemed to honestly believe that Thomas was just like the rest of them; a man with his faults and troubles, but none so terrible as to think himself completely unloved. Anna found herself hoping that Daisy was right.

 

“No, that’s true,” Anna said. “We all have our struggles. What I meant is… Thomas is a bit different than most men, and it makes life harder for him.”

 

“What d’you mean? How’s he different?” she asked.

 

“He… well…” Anna wasn’t sure what the current word was. And even if she knew, she was fairly sure it was a word Daisy hadn’t heard before. Thanks to the efforts of so many of the other servants, “protecting” her as they had.

 

She started again. “He… doesn’t want to marry a woman. Like most men do. He—when he fancies someone, it’s a man.”

 

Daisy lowered the handkerchief from her face back to her lap. Anna found herself nearly as shocked as she had thought Daisy would be. For Daisy did not appear shocked at all, only relieved in some way. As though she had just been given a puzzle piece she hadn’t known was missing.

 

“Oh,” she said calmly.

 

Anna continued. “And that’s illegal, though I’m sure it shouldn’t be, because he can’t help it. But it makes him feel like he has to hide himself, and he can never… love someone out in the open. Not the way Mr. Bates and I can, and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and all the rest of us, really.” Anna suddenly felt her throat tighten. How terribly, terribly lonely it must be for him. She rushed to finish before she began crying. “He’s been angry for a good long time, about a great many things, I think, but that seems to be the worst of them. It would have to be, I imagine,” she finished, her voice now a mere whisper.

 

Daisy sniffed. “So all these years that he’s been nasty and scheming—all these years that we all thought he were horrible—he were just sad.”

 

Oh, Daisy.

 

They looked at each other a moment, and cried together before Anna spoke again. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he was just sad.”

 

How ironic that the most inexperienced among them—the one they had tried to protect because they thought her so innocent—had understood in a moment what it had taken the rest of them fifteen years to piece together.

 

Daisy nodded again, and dabbed at her eyes, calming herself. Anna continued.

 

“So when you see Miss Baxter being affectionate with him, like she is now, I think she’s just… I think we all believe Thomas deserves love, but Miss Baxter wants him to have some love he doesn’t have to hide. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yes,” Daisy answered quickly. “Yes, it does.”

 

Anna dropped her shoulders. “Good,” she said. “I hope she—they—didn’t upset you. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

 

“No, you haven’t,” Daisy answered with a sniff. “I mean, I’m upset, but only because of what’s happened to him. He doesn’t deserve that… I wonder if I could help?”

 

Anna smiled. “I’m sure you can. He needs friends right now, and I know you can be a friend to him.”

 

Daisy nodded, and sat up straight. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas drained the last bit of tea from his cup, then handed it to Miss Baxter, who sat on a stool beside his rocking chair. She smiled at him, and passed the empty cup to Mrs. Patmore as she walked by, clearing the tea things. She drew his blanket up around his shoulders, and asked, “How are you feeling now?”

 

“Fine,” he answered, for it was true. “I think I’ll go up, though.”

 

Miss Baxter looked concerned. “Will you come back down for dinner?” she asked.

 

“I don’t think so,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I know it’s early, but I’m tired, and I just want to sleep.”

 

Miss Baxter nodded, and bit her lip. He knew she wasn’t worried about his being tired; that was nothing new, at least not this week. Clearly what worried her was that the time was coming for him to learn how to be alone again—for more than just a few minutes. And he was beginning to think that he might actually be alright to sleep alone tonight.

 

He could tell she didn’t like it, but at least she understood. She placed her hand on his arm, guiding him as he carefully stood from his chair. She wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and said, “Someone needs to walk with you up the stairs, though,” she said. “I’ll have to insist on it.”

 

Andy, who was seated nearby, and had clearly overheard, stood from his chair. “I’ll walk up with you, Mr. Barrow,” he said.

 

A voice in the doorway stopped all of them. “No, I’ll do it.”

 

Daisy.

 

“I’ll go with him. I want to.”

 

All three of them—and indeed, everyone in the room—stopped and looked at the determined assistant cook in the doorway. Thomas allowed himself a small smile. Yes, of course, the 100 pound kitchen maid should be the one to walk him up six flights… But there was something in her face that told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

 

“Yes, alright,” he said. “Thank you, Daisy.”

 

Before he could step around his chair and approach the door, Miss Baxter stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. Before pulling away, she whispered into his ear, “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just in case.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “If you need anything…”

 

“I know,” he assured her. “I’ll be alright.”

 

She nodded then, and let him go. He walked slowly out of the room, pulling Mrs. Hughes’ blanket around his shoulders, reminded suddenly of another night, years ago, when he had made this trip up the stairs, wrapped in the same blanket. This time, however, he wasn’t alone. Daisy walked next to him every step, watching him intently, and Thomas felt suddenly that though she was small, if anything were to happen in that stairwell, she would know just what to do. He was in good hands.

 

How far should he ask her to go with him, though? Here he was, bringing a girl up to his room... _Will wonders never cease?_ he thought to himself, then stopped abruptly, as they reached the top of the last flight of stairs. Daisy stopped just as abruptly behind him.

 

"You don't have to come with me to my room, Daisy, if you don't want to. I'll be alright now."

 

If he wasn't mistaken, she looked a little disappointed. "But Miss Baxter said you needed..."

 

"Miss Baxter's being protective, that's all," he said. "And Lord knows why, but..."

 

They looked at each other a moment, and he knew then that she knew. And not just what he had done last week. She knew everything.

 

He wondered who had told her. No one ever told Daisy anything.

 

He expected to feel ashamed, or at least embarrassed, but found again that he did not. Rather he just felt relieved; here was another person he didn't have to hide from, or decide when to tell. And he could tell she neither pitied nor reviled him. She just liked him.

 

"The thing is," she began. She lowered her voice and leaned forward, as though not to be overheard, though there was clearly no one else about. "I've never been on the men's side before. I'd like to see it if I could."

 

He couldn't stop himself laughing a little. He shrugged with a smile, and they continued down the hall to his room. "You know it looks just like the women's side, don't you?" He paused to consider. "Though it probably smells a little worse."

 

As he opened his door and stepped into his room, she said, "I know that, but it feels mysterious all the same... Or at least like I'm doing somethin' a little naughty." She suddenly stopped looking around at everything in wonder and turned to him. "Wait a minute," she said. "How do you know what the women's side looks like? Or smells like?"

 

He smiled, and sat on the edge of his bed. "I been over there a time or two," he said casually. He looked up at her, then at the empty space next to him on his bed.

 

She hesitated only a moment, then sat down beside him, intrigued. "What on earth for?" she asked.

 

"Well, years ago, once or twice, courtesy of Miss O'Brien. And it weren't for anything good." He frowned a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. "And also last week. Miss Baxter let me sleep in her room one night." He looked away.

 

"Thomas," she said softly, calling him by his Christian name for the first time in years. He forced himself to look at her. "There's no shame in it," she said. "I hope you know that. You... got mixed up. Got the wrong idea, and made a mistake. We all do," she said, and looked at her lap.

 

She was right, he knew. But he couldn't let her sit here and be such a good friend to him, after... No, that wasn't right. He wanted to be her friend, and a part of him knew he deserved it, too. So he wouldn't push her away. He would make things right, then let her get close, if she wanted to.

 

"Daisy," he said. "Daisy, I'm sorry."

 

"Sorry?" she said, "What for?"

 

"For... I need to tell you how sorry I am, but I wish I could tell William, too, only it’s too late. So will you let me tell you, as his wife?"

 

"I weren't really his wife," she said, "Not truly."

 

"Yes, you were," he said firmly. "And he was lucky to have you." He drew a deep breath. "I'm so sorry for all that I put him through, and you too. I was so jealous of William I couldn't see straight." She remained silent, allowing him time to say more. "He had everything. Everything I wanted. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes adored him. Even Mr. Bates.” He stopped a moment, and looked down, ashamed to admit what he was about to say. “And he had a mum who loved him."

 

"Your mum didn't love you?" she asked.

 

"No, she did," he answered quickly, and surprised himself not just by the fact that he said it, but by knowing that it was true. "She loved me, but she died when I was four, and left me with my Dad, who didn't. Or if he did love me, he had a funny way of showing it."

 

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

 

He nodded. "Me too," he said, but didn't allow himself the time to think again on how different his life would have been if his father had shown him any kindness. "William had so many years with his mum, and everyone liked him...” He sighed, and shook his head. “And I used you. To get at him. I used to tease you, and… the thing is, I am sorry, but I hope you know it wasn’t all teasing. You made me feel good, the way you used to smile at me. I did like you, just not in the way I tried to make you think I did.” He gave her a shy smile. “Anyway, Daisy, I'm going to try to be different now. I'm starting to see there are plenty of people here who care about me, and if you'll trust me, I'd like to be your friend."

 

She gave him a tearful smile. "Really?" she asked.

 

"Of course, really. Who wouldn't want to be friends with you?” He felt at peace with her in that moment, having said he was sorry, and having been so easily forgiven. But there was one thing more. Not an apology really, just an explanation.

 

“Daisy,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that when we don’t tell you things, and treat you like you’re still young… I know we shouldn’t, we all know it, but it’s just because… you’re our girl. Alright?”

 

She sighed, but smiled a little, too. “I know. But I’m not a girl any more.”

 

He nodded, and gave a little sigh as well. “Yeah,” he whispered. “But I hope—no matter what happens—you’ll always be ours.” He glanced at her, and saw she was about to really cry now. “Now, I hope you'll stay and keep me company for a while, but I do need to change into my pajamas. So get out or turn around."

 

She laughed, probably equally as relieved as he was that the moment between them—while necessary—was over. She stood from the bed and busied herself looking at the books on his shelf while he changed. Without looking in his direction, she said, "You must read a lot, Thomas. You've got so many novels."

 

He finished buttoning his pajama top and pulled back the covers on his bed, and sat down on it. "I do like to read," he said. "It’s been a little difficult this week, though." He couldn't stop himself smiling slightly at his understatement. "Miss Baxter's been reading to me a bit; she just finished _The Secret Garden_."

 

She turned to face him then, and he could have kissed her for not laughing at his being read a children's story. "Oh, I love that one!" she cried. “I always loved Dickon when I were a girl, out there on the moor, with his animals..."

 

He smiled. "Me too," he said softly. "I used to want to be him."

 

She tilted her head, clearly waiting for him to say more, but he couldn't. She seemed to understand. "Well, you'll have to start a new book, now that one's finished. What will you read next?" she asked.

 

He suddenly felt a little shy. "I was thinking about Treasure Island," he answered.

 

"I haven't read that one," she said quietly. "Maybe we could... read it together?"

 

He looked up at her, a little afraid, but feeling brave. "Would you read it to me, Daisy?" he asked.

 

She nodded. "I'd love to," she said. She turned back to his bookshelf, searched for his copy, and pulled it out.

 

He arranged his pillows against his headboard, and leaned back on them, so he was sitting upright in bed. She walked over to him, but was clearly unsure what to do. He scooted himself over slightly, and patted the space next to him.

 

She gave a nervous laugh, and pulled his blankets up to his waist, then smoothed them, before sitting down next to him. She looked at him again, gave another little laugh, and brought her feet up on the bed. He nestled himself next to her, and felt surprised by how warm she was. She opened the book and began to read, and though her voice was soft, he felt reassured by it, certain he was held together in a safe place. He closed his eyes and listened.

 

When she came to a pause in the story, he rested his head on her shoulder, and murmured softly, "You should be a teacher."

 

She sat still for a moment, then he felt her turn to look at him, though he did not open his eyes. "You think?" she asked softly.

 

"Mm-hmm," he said, with a small nod.

 

"I'll think on it," she whispered, then went back to reading again.

 

By the time she came to the end of the first chapter, he was nearly asleep. He heard her close the book, though, and felt her rise slowly from the bed, so as not to disturb him. He felt his blankets pulled to his chin, then heard the click of the lamp as she turned it off.

 

He felt the tiniest of feathery kisses on his cheek, and then she was gone.

 


End file.
